“How absurd!” exclaimed Veronica.  “As though we did not know each other intimately!”

“Yes, but that is the man’s nature, and I like it in him.  You can easily manage to let him understand at the first word what you have decided.  But if you would tell me first,—­especially if you mean to refuse,—­it would be better.  I myself wish only the happiness of you both.  You must be absolutely free in your decision.  After all, I daresay that you will refuse him.”

With great mastery of her tone and manner, she spoke in an indifferent way.  She was trying the dangerous experiment of playing a little upon Veronica’s contrariety.  The young girl laughed.

“That is not at all certain!” she answered.  “Only I do not see why you should all be in such a hurry.  If Bosio has been in love with me so long as you say, he will remain in love long enough for me to think over the matter, will he not?  If he has been in a state of anxiety for weeks, it will not hurt him to be anxious for one day more—­or a week more—­or even a month.  After all, it is for all my life, you know, Aunt Matilde.  I must see how the idea looks when I am used to it.  I am not a child, and I am not foolishly frightened at the idea of being married, nor out of my mind with joy at it, either, like a girl of the people.”

“Of course not,” said Matilde, growing a little pale with sheer nervousness.

“I daresay that we should be very happy together,” continued Veronica.  “But how can I possibly be sure of it?  No—­I suppose that one is never sure of anything until one has tried, but one may feel almost sure that one is going to be sure; that is what I want, before I say ‘yes.’  Do you wonder?”

“Oh, no!” answered the countess, quickly agreeing with her.  “On the contrary—­”

At this point the conversation was interrupted by the return of the maid.  The belt, as was to be expected, did not fit at all, and Veronica put on her own again.  The maid moved about the room, setting things in order.

“Give him a sign, if you wish him to speak when you meet,” said Matilde, in a low voice.  “It will be so much easier for him.  Wear a flower in your frock to-night at dinner—­any flower.  May I tell him that?”

“Yes,” answered Veronica, for it seemed a charitable suggestion so far as Bosio was concerned.  “I am going out, now,” she added suddenly.  “May I have the carriage?”

“Certainly.  Shall we go together?”

“Oh, no!  I do not want you at all!” cried the young girl, frankly and laughing.  “I have a secret.  I will take Elettra with me.”

Elettra was the name of the maid.

“Very well,” replied Matilde.  “I suppose you will tell me the secret some day.  Is it connected with New Year’s presents?  There are three weeks yet.  You have plenty of time.”

Veronica laughed again, which was undoubtedly equivalent to admitting her aunt’s explanation, and therefore not, in theory, perfectly truthful.  But she did not wish the countess to know that she was going to Bianca Corleone’s house, since Matilde would of course suppose, if she knew it, that she was going to consult Bianca about accepting Bosio, which was not true either.  She laughed, therefore, and said nothing, having got the use of the carriage, which was all she wanted.